A fresh start is exactly what London McLaren needs in order to forget the demons of her past. A new last name, a new town and a new school.
She's about to start her final year of high school, ready to obey her parent's orders to keep her head down a...
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Monday, February 3rd, 2020
When it first happened, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't look at my features and not see him. Blonde hair, dark eyes that almost looked black.
I take a breath now, leave my eyes closed momentarily, reach for my hairbrush and let reality sink in.
I gulp, watching my hand move along with my brush. My reflection stares back at me, tormenting me.
"You must be twins."
I close my eyes, steady my breathing and start from my roots again. I reach for a hair tie sitting neatly on my dresser. My fingers shake, the way I imagined my brothers did before he pulled the trigger.
I flinch, watching myself in the mirror. Watching him.
"If your hair was shorter and your features were less feminine, you'd pass for his clone!"
It takes me three attempts to satisfactorily tie my hair into a high pony.
There is a knock at my bedroom door and I jump.
"Lonnie? It's getting late. School starts soon," my mother's voice wavers, sounding muffled from behind the hard wooden door.
She was nervous, I was sure. Starting a new job was never easy, especially when she didn't know if her coworkers already knew of her.
"That's her. The Dark Phoenix's sister. Oh, and that must be the mother."
"I'll be ready in five."
I expect her to respond, the way she used to. My mother never used to finish a sentence without pet names like sweetheart or honey. Things were different now though. I needed to remember that.
After a beat, I hear her footsteps backing away from the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.
My parents were more cautious these days. They didn't say it out loud, but I knew they had trouble trusting me.
When we moved to our new house, the first thing my parents did was remove the deadbolt that slid across my door.
"We just need to be more open with each other," my father had said, patting me on the head like he had been doing since I was five.
I wanted to tell them that I had always been open, that it wasn't me who had changed everything. But I'd learnt in recent months that sometimes it was just easier to keep my mouth shut.
I tie up my shoes, fix my school blazer in the mirror. Whilst making sure I don't make eye contact with myself, I pick up my bag and open the door.
I see my dad first, sitting at the dining table, reading the paper. He takes a bite of his toast before his eyes peer over the top of the article he's reading. He gives me a tight-lipped smile, the best he can offer me these days.
